Reunion
by CS Fitzgerald
Summary: After years have passed since they last saw each other, two old lovers have a chance encounter at a wedding, on a night that just might change everything.


**Summary: **A story where two old lovers meet at a wedding.

* * *

><p>"Scotch, on the rocks, please," Athrun asked. "And make it a double."<p>

The bartender glanced at him oddly, largely because the man had just cut about three other people who had been waiting line, but in his defence, it was because it was only 7 PM and Athrun didn't think he could make it through the rest of the night, completing all of his best man duties, if he remained as painfully sober as he was right there and then. Luckily, the bartender poured him a drink anyways, which he downed it quickly, welcoming the three second reprieve it gave him before he felt sober all over again.

He immediately orders another one and looks at the crowd around him in the meantime, examining all of the impeccably dressed politicians and lawyers and businessmen and top ranking military officials and their equally elegantly dressed wives or girlfriends who had all somehow warranted an invitation to Dearka and Mirialla's wedding. He continues to scan the crowd until he eventually finds who he's looking for - Cagalli Yula Athha, the most beautiful woman in the room, sitting all by herself, just as alone as he was.

It's the first time he's seen her in years. He had heard she was invited and had secretly hoped she'd come, though he had no idea why she actually did. It appeared that the universe was working in strange ways to bring them back together after all this time. As he stares at her figure, not sure if he's dreaming and his mind had merely conjured her up, he suddenly feels like he's falling, spinning into infinity, unable to find the ground beneath his feet. He quickly grips the marble countertop to steady himself, feels the hard edge against the palm of his hand, and the cold, hardness brings him back to reality.

Fortunately, she hasn't seen him yet and he feels grateful because it meant that he could indulge himself in studying her for a few moments. She's aged as well as he thought she would; her hair falls down her back, golden and shiny and a bit longer than it used to be and he remembers how soft it felt between his fingers. Her skin was smooth, her neck exposed when she shook her head a little. He thinks he could write poems about just how lovely she was, describe every detail of her, from her dark eye lashes to her olive complexion to her pink, glossy lips.

He's still watching her when she abruptly decides to stand up from her table, discreetly grabs a pack of cigarettes and escapes to the women's restroom. He thinks that this is definitely not something the old her would have done; then again, he had once genuinely thought he understood her only to discover that he had figured her out all wrong. She remained an enigma to him - a riddle surrounded by mystery. However, it seemed as if the restroom was occupied because she changes her direction and hurries to a shadowy corner of the room near a window instead. It's in that moment that he realizes he wants the awkwardness to fall behind them as soon as possible to make this night a little more bearable. So he makes his mind up and, before he can change it, orders two glasses of champagne. "Wish me luck, buddy." He says to the bartender before he makes his way to her.

Once he's close enough, she eventually notices him and he's surprised to see that she is not surprised at all to see him in front of her. When he's finally right beside her, he offers her one of the glasses of champagne he's brought. "For you."

"Thank you, but I don't drink." She tells him as she rejects the champagne.

"You smoke but you don't drink." He remarks, slightly amused.

"Well, I shouldn't do that either, of course, but…"

She's cut off by a loud eruption of boisterous cheers that fill the entire room. The sound reminds the two that there is a wedding currently happening around them, that all the people beside them are celebrating the joyous union between Mr. and Mrs. Elsman instead of hiding somewhere in the reception. And then he notices again that she is wearing a bridesmaid dress. A lovely pale pink dress that clings on to every curve of her petite body. "I thought bridesmaids weren't allowed to smoke?" He asks.

"Guess I'm not a good bridesmaid after all." She answers him as she takes another drag.

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself now," He replies, hoping to lightened the mood. "I hear that the only requirement is that you can fit into one of these dresses."

She smiles. A barely noticeable smile, but it's a smile nonetheless and it's been so long since she's given him one of those. "Alright. How am I doing then?"

"I'd say you're doing well."

"I'm glad you think so but it doesn't matter though. I was an alternate anyway." She admits. "The original seventh bridesmaid apparently broke a leg in an unfortunate skiing accident in Aspen. Of course, she swore up and down, the bride - that is, that she had intended to invite me earlier, that she had just forgot to send my invitation because of how hectic planning a wedding all by herself was, but well…you know how _this _is. "

"I don't actually." He says and surprises both of them by getting closer. "Tell me."

"Well…" She begins, searching for the right words. "You could say that I have a bit of a history with one of the other guests."

"History? Sounds interesting." He whispers.

"Oh no. I swear it's terribly boring." She whispers back, deciding to engage with him in this little game they were playing. "You probably wouldn't want to hear about it."

"I'm sure that's not true," He continues even when of course she knows, "I bet it was incredible, an epic romance where love conquered all."

"No," She shakes her head. "It was a sad dull real people kind of love. You know? Mistakes repeated endlessly, lessons remaining unlearned, feelings hurt, hearts broken."

He doesn't completely know how to answer to that, so he chooses to guide the conversation to another subject that he feels more comfortable with. "So…here you are, the bride's eight closest friend in the entire world."

"I've thought about that actually. And as far as I see it, the only absolute fact is that I'm not one of her top seven friends. I mean, on such short notice she certainly could have asked and been rejected by several other alternatives before she got to me. Which means that I could be her eighth, tenth, or even hundredth closest friend. "

"Or," He interjects, "You were the only person she knew who could potentially fit into the dress."

"I didn't think of that. So that's another possibility." She realizes, "Therefore, I'm not a friend of the bride at all… I'm just another living mannequin to complete the insane symmetry of seven groomsmen and seven bridesmaids."

"Or alternatively," He suggests, "you really are one of her seven closest friends but, the history you mentioned before prevented her from inviting you, and when the original seventh bridesmaid was taken off by the insane skiing accident, it gave the bride the courage to rekindle her treasured friendship that she thought she had lost all those years ago."

"No, that's definitely not it," She told him as she got even closer and looked directly into his eyes. "Me and her were never that close to begin with, even when we were close."

She turned around to glance at the wedded pair though he doesn't take his eyes off her and he found himself in this strange yet familiar position where he could smell her hair, like the old times. The scent of amber and vanilla.

"There was this two month or something of the sort period when we were almost friends, I think," She says softly, as she gazes at the bride and groom who are dancing together on the middle of the ballroom to some horrible pop song. "But I haven't spoken to her since I was twenty two; in fact, I haven't spoken to most of these people for many years now."

"That still doesn't explain why a pretty girl like you is standing all by herself?"

"Some of them used to be my friends, but they aren't anymore." She explains, almost a little sadly, and he can read in her eyes that she is remembering when they were younger, when they were all friends or at the very least acquaintances. He can almost see that she is remembering _them_ too and just when he thinks he's got her, her expression changes completely and she adds, "The worst part is I'm just so goddamn tired of playing the let's catch up game. The endless repetition of what I've been doing and with whom I've been doing and how is work. And then after I finish my prepared speech, I just nod blankly as they recite theirs. To be honest, I don't know how I went as long as I did without a smoke."

"I see."

"They used to be my exes friends. Not mine."

"Not even the groom? Not even the beautiful made of honour?" He asks. "I really thought you considered at very least the groom and the made of honour as friends."

"Well they sure were," She answers him, "But, after the break up, they chose a side and so did I."

"Then why are you here?"

"I already told you why."

"I meant at the party. Why did you come here?"

"You know, I asked myself that exact question when I was getting on the plane." She pauses for a moment. "…And I could only come with two reasons and quite frankly, neither of them were very good."

"And what were they?"

"Curiosity. And… maybe, just maybe, because I knew I shouldn't."

"Something tells me you're still trouble-maker." He laughs as they both sit in one unoccupied table, far away from the rest of the partying crowd. As usual, when they were together, it felt like they were the only ones in the room.

"Or maybe it was because I had enough frequent air miles to make the trip for free," She jokes.

He laughs. "Now that's three reasons."

Just when they both are settled, they hear the wedding singer start speaking: "_All right, attention all the single woman in the room tonight, it's the time you've all been waiting for. Milly is about to throw the bouquet! So all of you, come out to the middle of the floor!"_

"Oh… sweet." He says. "Isn't that your cue?"

She just looks at him as she says: "I'm not single."

He feels his heart drop, even though he shouldn't. He refuses to let it show, though. "Sorry, I just assumed since you came here alone that you were...So you're seeing someone?"

"Yeah, I am." She says and she takes of one of the gloves she was wearing, revealing a ring.

"You did marry." It wasn't a question, just a mere observation of what was in front of him.

She noticed that he was still looking at her so she said: "It's just a ring, Athrun."

"I heard married woman are not supposed to be bridesmaid."

"Who says?"

"Bridesmaids are brides in training. They are matrimonial interns. Everyone knows that."

"One, that is an old and outdated custom. Two, I'm not married yet. And three, I told you I was a bad bridesmaid."

He downs the glass of champagne she refused to drink earlier, realizing the only way he can talk about her getting married if he's drunk. "Did your husband to be come with you then?" He asks abruptly as he places the empty glass back down, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat.

"No, he couldn't. Not on so short notice."

"What does he do?"

"Do?"

"For a living."

"Athrun-"

"C'mon, tell me. We're friends, aren't we?"

"He's a doctor and let's leave it at that."

"At least tell me where you live now because you obviously do not live in the city anymore."

"We moved out to the countryside and we both commute to work in the city every day." She says, "How about you? Have you gotten married?"

It was the dreadful question that he'd been avoiding all night. To be honest, he was expecting it, just not from her. "No, I didn't, but I have a girlfriend." The second the words left his mouth, he had already regretted them. As if by saying that made anyone not feel bad for being unmarried at his age.

"Serious?"

"Not at all." He wishes that he could lie to her, but he couldn't, not when she knew him better than anyone else. "But I actually like it, the lack of seriousness. It's just a bit of good fun. And in my experiences, when it gets too serious, it might as well be over." He did notice that she was looking at him between bewildered and amused. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I know your kind. I know you so well, or I knew you so well. And you, Athrun Zala, are just not that kind of guy. That's not you."

"People do change."

"Of course they do, but I don't think that, in this particular aspect, you have changed at all. For god's sake, you've been seriously dating someone since you were fifteen. I don't think you're even capable of doing casual." She adds, "Anyways, where is that girlfriend of yours?"

"She didn't come either," He answers. "She's busy working in Amsterdam right now. She's with a ballet company there for a few months."

"Wow, a ballerina. Must have a lovely figure."

"Yeah she does." He comments. "Very lovely, indeed. She works for it though."

"Is there something wrong in working for it?"

"Not at all….It's just that, sometimes I wish I was not so acquainted with the care and maintenance of Meyrin's figure. It takes out the romance out of it."

"Did you just say Meyrin? As in the Meyrin Hawke you broke up with a few years ago?" She asks, incredulously. "Jesus Christ. Reviving past romances, I wouldn't have taken you for that."

"I already told you people change." He tells her, a little sharply. "I mean you're living proof of that." And there it was, some of the feelings that he still had for what she did to him, for allowing them growing apart until they'd become stranger, for picking work over him. All of that resentment and anger he thought he had buried when he was twenty two was starting to bubble up.

"I'll give you that," She concedes, not wanting to fight with him. He suddenly feels bad for his childish outburst and gets ready to apologize but before he can, she turns around and faces him. "Let me tell you something, we all have to work for it, alright. I work for it. All the women I know work for it. And the ones that claim to be "naturally thin", the ones that say that they can eat anything they want without gaining any weight, they are usually the ones working hardest. I mean, how fucked up is that? We as women shouldn't have to hide these facts or give any importance to our weight just because society says we need to have a man interested in us. Because if we do, what are we teaching our daughters?"

He loved when she'd go into one of her rants, seeing how passionate she was about certain things. He smiles. "I think when you have a daughter, you'll be a great mom. You're going to guide her down the road of self-appreciation."

She looks at him as if to say something but instead whispers. "So…Meyrin."

"Yes, Meyrin."

"Meyrin, the ballerina… I can almost picture her." Then she grabs another cigarette and lights it.

"Don't smoke, it's bad for you." He lectures her, as he takes the cigarette and puts it out. "What would your doctor fiancee think?"

"Seeing as he has succeeded in leaving it but not before hooking me in the vice? I guess he accepts it, but still despises it."

"What is it even like being a doctor's wife?"

"It's similar to being a businessman's wife, both are workaholics," She answers and he knows that she's referring to him in this comparison, "You see, I kind of experienced both, to an extent at least, not marriage per se, but a serious relationship."

"What's the difference?" He asks her and he can't help the look of longing that he lets escape.

"The doctor wears better ties." She smiles and he can't also help looking at his own tie, as to make a sort of comparison, with whom, he doesn't know.

This is when he decides to just let the seriousness of this whole conversation go away and let a light atmosphere enter them. He knows this conversation isn't as bad as it could've been but he still feels a little awkward at times, especially when they're talking about the man she's agreed to spend the rest of her live with. A man that wasn't him. He decides then that being with her still affects him somehow and it hurts to much to think about this so he decides to guide the conversation into new territory, yet again.

"You know, I do remember you from before," He says to her, "In fact, I remember the very first time I saw you."

"Aha."

"I'm serious. I remember the first time I really, really saw you." He adds, "I was nineteen and so were you. It was at university and it was near the end of sophomore year and you were outside, sitting on the quad. I recognized you because I had seen you in my economics class before though I didn't know your name, and I was about to go into class, and I remember seeing you there, all alone, which I kept on thinking was rare for you considering people always loved to be around you. But there you were. All by yourself. Under a tree reading a book."

"And what was that book?"

"You were reading Persuasion by Jane Austen."

"You are so making that up!"

"No I'm not," He defends himself, "Why would you say that?"

"People do it all the time," She answers, "Make up little details, connecting truths with half truths. It's like storytelling."

"Fine. Whatever the book was," he continues, "You were totally absorbed in it. And maybe it was because I didn't know you that well at the time and all I knew was that I wanted to know you, I interrupted you and said: You know that economics is already starting right?"

"And what did I say?"

"You said: Who are you? And class can wait."

She lets out a laugh. "I never said that."

"Yes you did. Trust me."

"And why should I?"

"Because I could never forget the best day of my life." She opens her mouth to say something but closes it. It's a rare moment to catch her off-guard, so he seizes his only opportunity. "Cagalli, would you like to have this dance?"


End file.
